'Righter'n I expected,' Uncle Eb shouted, and then he covered his
mouth, shaking with suppressed laughter.
'Skunk!' he said, as we turned the animal and started to walk him
home. 'Don't min' bein' beat, but I don't like t' hev a man rub it in
on me. I'll git even with him mebbe.'
And he did. It came about in this way. We turned our new
purchase into the pasture, and Uncle Eb and I drove away to
Potsdam for a better nag. We examined all the horses in that part
of the country. At last we chanced upon one that looked like the
whistler, save that he had a white stocking on one hind foot.
'Same age, too,' said Uncle Eb, as he looked into his mouth.
'Can pass anything on the road,' said his owner.
'Can he?' said Uncle Eb, who had no taste for slow going. 'Hitch
him up an' le's see what he can do.'
He carried us faster than we had ever ridden before at a trot, and
coming up behind another team the man pulled out, let the reins
loose on his back, and whistled. If anyone had hit him with a log
chain the horse could not have moved quicker.
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